


Kicking and Screaming

by domini_moonbeam



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: BAMF Nicky, First Kiss, Implied Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domini_moonbeam/pseuds/domini_moonbeam
Summary: Prisoners on a ship. Guards try to take Yusuf away from Nicolo and everything gets bloody after that.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1368





	Kicking and Screaming

They had escaped the endless crusade and crossed lands only to be captured at sea by pirates.

Nicolo’s heart hammered in his chest when he saw Yusuf’s shoulders sag, his face drawing in a new horrible mix of fury and fear. His eyes glassed over, like he was escaping inward and he nodded tightly. The guard grinned and went to the wall to retrieve the ring of keys.

“What did he say?” Nicolo demanded, the ship swaying. The guard returned to Yusuf’s door, flipping through keys in search of the right one.

Nicolo slammed into the bars dividing them and reached out, surprising even Yusuf when he snatched hold of the front of his shirt and pulled him up against the bars, their faces inches apart. “What did he say?” he yelled in his face, in Arabic, pronouncing each word with pointed fury.

Yusuf stared at him, a flicker of something wonderful behind that haze of defeat. “It’s going to be okay. They’ll bring me back.”

“What did he say?” he demanded, clutching at Yusuf with both hands now, tearing at the front of his shirt.

Yusuf cringed and looked away. “It’s you or me. If I… _behave_ , you’ll be fine.”

The way his voice lowered and hardened around the word “behave” sent a sick feeling right down to Nicolo’s stomach. He started screaming and swearing when the guard opened the door and grabbed at Yusuf, pulling him from Nicolo’s grip. Yusuf tried to calm him even when he was being taken from his arms, from the cell. “It will be okay, Nico,” he called. It was the first time he’d ever called him that. And then he was gone.

Nicolo stood still. The ship creaked and swayed, the dark haul full of groaning and vomiting and whispers. And above deck boots moved and voices rose into a boisterous cheer. He closed his eyes, hands in front of himself, still shackled, trying to breathe slower, slower, slower.

He had been in this tiny, wretched cell in this nightmare ship for days, possibly weeks. He had been beaten and spit on and pissed on and none of it had even mattered. It had been a joke. Because there had been two of them. Because this was awful but it would be a story someday in their very long lives.

A voice jeered at him, the guard left on duty coming over.

Nicolo stayed still. Slower. Slower. Slower.

The voices above deck were a roar of delight. No screams. No shouts. No. There wouldn’t be if Yusuf had gone willingly. To take his place? Or to keep them from taking it out on him and finding out he was immortal? And what would happen if they killed Yusuf and realized he was immortal? What would happen if they didn’t kill him?

“Hey!” the guard shouted, beating a club along the bars of his cage.

He didn’t move. The last thought he went over, was his Yusuf trying to calm him when he was the one going out. Nicolo had not offered him calming words. He had not said anything to console or thank or beg to offer himself instead. He opened his eyes, wanting to see those deep brown eyes staring back at him, but a stranger leered at him through the bars, speaking in words he did not understand.

Nicolo grabbed the bars to his left, leaned back, and then bashed his face into them.

The guard jumped back, surprised, but Nicolo did not stop. He beat his own face in without a scream.

The guard hurried for the keys, hurried to open the door, the rest of the prisoners watching in stunned silence. And then the door opened and the guard swung his baton at Nicolo. He was blind, blood in his eyes and bones in his face broken. But he had thought this through. There was so little space in this cell, it was impossible not to get it right. He lifted his arms up and out, the baton hitting the chains and then he twisted and turned, smashing his body into the other man and sending both of them falling out of the cell and onto the dirty floor. His nose had cracked back into place and he could see, though in tones of red. The man began to shout so Nicolo did the only thing he could—he bit his throat and tore and tore and tore until all sounds and fight was gone.

He used his knees and the floor to crush his own hands, shaking off his cuffs when he stood and shaking his hands out until the bones snapped back into place. Agony ran through his body but he didn’t have time for it. He pulled the sword from the guard’s belt and then the daggers he’d been eyeing for days. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve to clean away enough blood to see and raised a finger to his lips when he saw the horrified faces of the other prisoners.

They nodded mutely.

He took the stairs and padded up to the deck.

He killed quietly, staying to shadows and behind people, slitting throats and dumping them down the stairs. They were all so phenomenally drunk it made everything go a lot faster than he could have otherwise hoped.

Yusuf had been dragged to the bow of the ship where much conversation and laughter was going on. He couldn’t get a good view of what was going on but it couldn’t be good. That being said, he also wasn’t dead yet.

By the time Nicolo was spotted, there were only a dozen or so of the crew left, most of them in that cluster around Yusuf. A man gave a howling cry when he saw Nicolo cutting another man’s throat. It was a mix of alarm and sheer terror. Nicolo threw the dagger through the screamer’s eye but it was too late.

That cluster of men shifted, first just gaping at him where he stood. Nicolo looked past them to see his Yusuf. He shouldn’t think of him like that, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He had been everything to him since their first death, first enemy, then obsession, then ally, and now friend. Yusuf groaned, beaten down to his knees, the front of his shirt ripped and a man standing over him with a bruising grip on Yusuf’s jaw. His eyes were still glassy and far away for a long moment before they focused on Nicolo, confused and then horrified. Nicolo threw his last dagger, clipping the man touching his Yusuf right in the chest and throwing him back just before everyone still standing on the deck rushed him.

He bared his teeth, bloody from use and still fighting even when they had swords and knives, even when they started cutting into him. A blade stuck deep in his back, finally dropping him to the ground. Breathing was wet, metallic. He was drowning in his own blood. He had done this before. He was going to die. Between their legs, he spotted Yusuf just as he dropped his shackles, shaking out the breaks in his hands, and pulled the knife Nicolo had thrown into that other man’s chest. He died with a smile on his lips.

* * *

Yusuf panted for air, leaving the knife sticking out of the last man on deck when he finally crawled toward Nicolo’s body. Someone had left a sword in him, right in his back, sticking him to the deck.

He pulled it out.

The night was finally quiet, but for a breeze, the waves, and the squeak of lamps swinging lightly.

He rolled Nicolo onto his back, his eyes still open. He was covered in blood, painted in it. He had never looked more like a monster than he did right then, lips still parted and blood dripping down his neck, from his chin, from his lips, from his teeth. How many times had he met this man on a battlefield? How many times had he died at his hands? And yet, he had never looked anything like this. A few of those deaths, Nicolo had even looked hurt to do it. Those had been some of the last, before they both found they did not have the heart to cut each other down again—that they both went in to the battle for the sake of seeing the other, and they both hoped to be the one that fell.

“Nicolo,” he called when the Italian remained still. He reached out, touching his arm. And Nicolo inhaled, eyes blinking back the darkness to stare at the night sky.

Nicolo groaned and rolled to his side—toward Yusuf rather than away. “Here,” he coughed, hand sliding across the bloody wood planks, looking for a weapon, trying to make his eyes focus.

Yusuf sighed out relief and squeezed his shoulder. “Everyone’s dead.”

“Do not ever do that again,” Nicolo said, sitting up with a twinge.

“I did not have much choice about it.”

Nicolo turned to glare at Yusuf. “Do not ever leave me again,” he repeated and Yusuf heard the pain in his voice then—saw the tears in his eyes. He shook his head, as if convincing himself not to cry, as if clinging to anger instead. “Did you really think that was mercy? To leave me in that cell while you were dragged up here to be fucked?” the words came out low and harsh, he was trying for an ugly argument, something not too close to the emotions they’d been hedging for years now.

Yusuf could imagine flinching at them or being offended or defensive, but right now, he was just awestruck by how much raw feeling Nicolo had allowed to seep out into each word. He was furious, heartbroken, and maybe even a little betrayed. Yusuf smiled a little, despite the tears in his own eyes. “Did you want to be the one that got fucked?” he tried to joke, still mesmerized by Nicolo.

Nicolo almost laughed—almost. “I want us to go to every death and torment kicking and screaming _together_.”

“I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“More romantic than that time I told you to fall down a canyon so that I could hear the echo of your screams for days?”

Yusuf laughed. “You did not say it in a romantic way at the time…” He noticed that Nicolo was still staring at him, sitting right in front of him. He looked serious and he didn’t look away when Yusuf stared back.

Nicolo’s pulse jumped in his throat. Yusuf was close enough to see it, almost close enough to feel it. “I mean it, Yusuf,” he said quietly, as if pained. “Do not leave me again.”

Yusuf’s heart swelled and constricted, caught between pride and joy and agony. How could he make such a promise? How could he swear to let harm come to Nicolo if he had the opportunity to take it upon himself instead? And then he imagined if their roles had been reversed. If language had been in Nicolo’s favor on this ship and he had made the deal and left Yusuf alone below deck. He cringed but didn’t dare to look away from those blue eyes. Yusuf nodded slowly, momentarily speechless by how much he loved this man. “If you will swear the same,” he said at last. “I will not leave you and you will not leave me. We’ll go together.”

Nicolo sighed like the relief was soul deep, nodding and leaning over until their foreheads touched. His eyes closed briefly. “Kicking and screaming.”

Yusuf smiled. “And sometimes just walking. Maybe singing.”

Nicolo kissed him, hand sliding to the back of his neck. Yusuf was so surprised he was slow to react and Nicolo pulled back, staring at him with uncertainty. Yusuf could read everything in that look—fear that he had moved too fast or assumed something more of them than was there. Nicolo’s face was easy to read after all these years, the disappointment, shame, and rejection so livid when he started to lean back. In a split second he would roll to his feet and walk away like this had never happened.

Yusuf cupped the back of his head and brought him forward again, kissing him just like he had always wanted to.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://dominimoonbeam.tumblr.com/)


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